Five Ways Downwards
by Firefly101
Summary: A squad of Gears, down in the deep tunnels of the Hollow. Starting out with a teaser, and will eventually update. First chapter up, call it the mini... mini.. first chapter thing. Please R&R!
1. Prologue

The Hollow: the deepest pit of the worst circle of hell. The Coalition of Ordered Governments was insane, sending practically all of its finest down into there. We might as well have strapped bombs to our backs and held grenades in both hands like the good, obedient little Kamikaze soldiers we were. Rig 293. That was the number.

And of course we had to have someone called the 'Chain' as our driver.

Of course we did.

God, I hope they have some serious guns and backup in hell, once I'm down there. Maybe we can go ahead and save the world. Heh. Last minute sentimental thoughts about dead men.

We could use those men now.


	2. Chapter 1

"Shit."

That was the most common word in our squad's expansive, person-to-person vocabulary. Currently, it was being used more often than it had been since we had first used it five years ago. Rig 293 was old enough to have been made out of the remains of the first wheel. A part hanging out here, wires hanging out in bad places, and the smell of gasoline and smoke constantly hung around everything, including the new, surprisingly shiny grappling hooks that were currently clanging onto the rig's side. Bad days demanded a cigarette. So I was smoking a cigarette, attempting to enjoy myself as I firmly shoved hooks back over the edge, sending their respective Locust owners plummeting down to the dirt.

Unfortunately, not everyone had this same idea.

Such as Jonathan.

"Shit, shit, shit, and shit again!" he was yelping, firing desperately with his Lancer. Meanwhile, a drone with a Lancer was approaching, already revving his chainsaw. "SHIT!" Jonathan actually screamed this time. With a sigh, I spun around and started up my own chainsaw. I shoved the very frightened Jonathan aside as he said something we all already knew from his yells. "God damnit, gun's jammed!" The drone's chainsaw smoked and let out a bestial roar as his met mine.

It was a lot of sweat.

And pushing.

Lots of pushing and shoving, and some cheating.

Well, cheating on my end. I ended up kicking the Locust in the shin, causing him to loosen his grip. This second of relief was all I needed, and I let my chainsaw do the work, shredding skin, flesh, and blood as the creature let out a howl. Red liquid splattered my face as I continued the job without stopping. When the two halves of the thing's corpse collapsed at my feet, I spun around and firmly whacked Jonathan in the face with a free hand. "You idiot! You absolute idiot! You should've retreated and let one of us do the work instead of blocking a good shot with your fucking ass!" Unfortunately for us, the Locust began their grappling tactics with renewed vigor, and I had to turn away from the discipline of the Private. Rig 293 rumbled on as the 'Chain' shouted, "You Gears gotta keep them off Caroline's ass! Can't stand much more of these here bullets!"

And that was when smoke billowed out of the Rig's engine, and we ground to a stop.


	3. Chapter 2

According to our driver, rigs break.

But they're the equivalent of huge fucking _tanks_.

How do they break in the first place?

But the 'Chain' was sitting there, fiddling with 293's engine, as we 'sat' there, getting our limbs blown off. Literally. Thomas was attempting to run from a grenade which a Grenadier had practically thrown into his lap, and was a bit too slow in getting away from it.

I'll just say that it was bloody, and I think one of his fingers fell on my back. All I know is that I had a long line of bloody sludge going down my backside, and an extra appendage that I didn't need on the ground next to me. Poor kid. But he was pretty much dead meat.

Then they let two Boomers loose.

Boomers. How do Boomers get out of E Holes anyway? Their asses are far too fat to fit in a damn hole. Imagine that. Boomers stuck in E Holes. Easy extinction tactic, if only it would actually work. But I'm blathering.

So I pretty much pulled out my Longshot and attempted to blow off some Locust heads. Unfortunately for the Drone that leapt in front of the Boomer, its head was at the Boomer's chest level or so. I aimed and fired at the Boomer's chest. Well, let me rephrase that. I _tried_ to fire at the Boomer's chest. Instead I got a grub's headless corpse and a fountain of blood. Well. One down. Back to work on the Boomers.

The Boomer opened its mouth and let out a bestial, growling yell of, "BOOM!"

They're so stupid. What a dead giveaway. But the thing fired anyway.

Once again, that word from two of my team members.

"Ah, _shit_!"

One of them hit a low wall that one of us was using as cover. I knew he was dead from the rather sickening crunch his neck made against the wall. The second one was sitting there on the ground, hugging a leg stump.

Ouch.

Then two of the most welcome words I have ever heard in my life were shouted from none other than the 'Chain'.

"Get on!"

Easier said than done.

Especially when we have two Boomers, practically a whole legion of grubs, and one man still alive, but missing a leg to carry.

So Jonathan and I hefted the injured man over to the ladder, with bullets practically pinging off of our asses. Getting him up the ladder was like attempting to kill a Wretch, blind, tied up, and with only your fists. In other words, you were going to most likely lose.

Lucky for us, we didn't.

Apparently, when all else fails, a bit of luck helps.

Foxtrot Squad back on the road towards suicide.

One death leads to another. The next stop in our mission? Landown.

Fuck.


End file.
